Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jon pushed through the door to the archive, holding back tears until he was out of view. Goodness. He'd already felt awful about taking people's statements but now… somehow he felt even worse. Something about having all his colleagues disappointed in him, even Martin… it hurt. And Annabelle was right - it was an active choice on his part to feed. He was a bad person. A monster.

He sniffled and wiped his nose with his sleeve, not caring that he was being disgusting. Nothing mattered right now - he would have been okay if a car had come out of nowhere and hit him as he crossed the crosswalk to the pub but unfortunately none did. So he continued on his way up to the building and pulled open the door.

The bartender looked up, faintly surprised to see Jonathan Sims. Everyone in the area knew him as the head archivist at that creepy paranormal building down the street and he typically wasn't much for drinking. But here he was, heading straight back for the bar, his eyes glowing green even as they were puffy and red from crying.

“Whiskey please." Jon placed a 50 pound note on the bar. "Whatever this gets me and keep the change." He put his head in his hands and began to cry quietly, his shoulders shaking.

The bartender eyed him dubiously. The man did not look large enough to handle seven glasses of whiskey - frankly he wasn't sure he could handle two. He was very tiny. “I'm going to start you off with one glass, okay? You can have more after.”

Jon sniffled. "Fine.”

The bartender poured him a glass and handed it over. Jon downed it with a grimace and handed back the glass. "Another, please.”

…

A few hours later the bartender raised an eyebrow as Jon proffered the glass again. “Sorry, I’m cutting you off.”

Jon was somewhat confused but reckoned that was probably fair enough - after all he’d had five glasses of whiskey and was rather drunk. He nodded and stood up, stumbling away from the bar.

“Did you want your change?”

Jon shrugged. “No, you keep it,” he slurred.

“Do you want me to call you a cab?” The bartender was somewhat concerned at his state and didn’t like the idea of him walking to the bus stop as inebriated as he was.

“I’m good, thank you.” Jon finished stumbling to the front door and pushed it open, barely managing to avoid falling on his face. Then he was out into the night.

It was rather unfortunate that he was as out of it as he was since he didn’t notice the form stealthily following him from the shadows as he made his painstaking way towards the archives. The Eye managed to eventually send him a warning but it wasn’t enough to really get through to his alcohol-addled mind. He turned around slowly to see a figure approaching him and faintly raised a quizzical eyebrow as he slurred. “Hi, may I help you?”

The figure remained silent which gave Jon a brief momentary flicker of concern, a forgotten memory perhaps, then it pounced on him and sank long sharp teeth into his throat. Jon tried to scream but it was too late and he collapsed into the vampire’s arms as it ripped out a chunk of his throat and produced a tongue and began to slurp.

Trevor and Julia had been tracking this vampire and heard faint sounds of scuffle from the alley near a bar and sure enough, there was their quarry taking some prey of its own. Julia felt a brief twinge of sympathy for the spasming victim but she knew it was over for him and she could at least stop this monster from taking more victims. Trevor nodded at her and the two strode forward, Trevor yanking the vampire away from its prey and Julia stabbing it in its stomach. It collapsed with a furious pain in its eyes and Julia pulled Jon’s twitching form away as Trevor lit the weakened vampire on fire.

“Trevor… it’s the man we came to the UK for.” She gestured to the man bleeding out on the ground.

“It is… well.” He knelt next to Jon and examined his face, looking for any signs of awareness. Jon weakly blinked up at him a couple times before his eyes rolled back and Trevor sighed. “He’s gone. Guess we’ll never get our page back.”

Julia sighed. “Well. I suppose he suffered for his sins. Still. Seems a bit harsh, considering.”

Trevor nodded. “Well, we’d better get out of here before the police come.” The two walked off into the night after dragging Jon’s unconscious and dying form away from the fire - the man at least deserved to be identified by his loved ones so they could get some closure.

Chapter Text

Martin was annoyed when he heard the knocking at his door. “Go away.”

He was surprised to hear sniffling. “M-Martin… it’s Jon.”

He opened the door to see Daisy… was she crying? “Daisy, what’s going on?”

Daisy stifled a sob. “Basira and my former colleagues just came here to report that they found him… in an alley… dead.”

“WHAT?!?”

Daisy sniffled and nodded. “It looked like… like a vampire got him.”

Martin couldn’t help it - tears started streaming down his face and he weakly sank to his knees. “G, no. No. No, please, Not Jon. No.”

Daisy put her face in her hands. “I’m sorry, Martin.”

…

Martin couldn’t bring himself to lift the white sheet that covered the shape on the table. He knew he had to - he had to identify the body. Everyone knew it was Jon but this was just to be absolutely sure. But he couldn’t bring himself to look, to solidify it in his mind that Jon was gone. He couldn’t see that face, once so full of life, now frozen in death. Those eyes… no. He couldn’t. He put his head in his hands and sobbed.

“I’ll give you a few minutes alone.” The morgue worker stepped out of the room to give him some privacy. Martin barely noticed, distracted as he was by the knowledge that the one person he truly cared about was lying there under that sheet in front of him. That once he lifted it he realistically had no more reason to keep trying. Did he even care about the rest of the world? Did he even care about Lukas’ mission? He realized that no, he didn’t. Not if Jon was gone. Maybe it was selfish but he didn’t want to save a world that was cruel enough to take him away like this. He just wanted to join him. He steeled himself with a shaky nod and lifted the sheet.

Jon lay there, paler than normal, his hair a messy halo around his head, half-soaked in blood. They had clearly wiped down his shoulders and neck after sewing up the gaping hole in the side of his neck but hadn’t cleaned his hair in preparation for viewing - it would have taken more effort. His eyes were open and staring vacantly at the ceiling, his lips a straight line that he knew had likely only happened with the tranquility of death - for sure he’d died trying to scream. But it was him. Martin’s shoulders shook with sobs as he brushed his hair out of his face and tenderly ran a finger down the side of his cheek. “Oh, Jon!” Unconsciously he brushed the sheet down further and grabbed Jon’s left hand, tenderly gripping it in his own and shivering at the cold. It felt so similar to the last time he’d held it, back in the hospital when he was dead. Except this time… this time there was no hope of recovery. Jon was gone for good.

Martin felt himself sink to his knees at the side of the morgue table, his vision going blurry with tears. He couldn’t do this, he just couldn’t. Couldn’t say goodbye to Jon, his precious Jon, the man he’d never told how he felt and now he’d never get the chance to. “J-Jon, I’m… I’m so sorry!” He bawled and his face came to rest against Jon’s chest and he couldn’t even bring himself to care about just how unsanitary this was. Nothing mattered, nothing mattered at all. He was truly Lonely now, forever, and he didn’t care if he died. He wanted to, really. Then maybe he could join him or at least be at peace.

He was so out of it with overwhelming grief that it took him several seconds to realize that there was the faintest sound coming from… somewhere. He sniffled. What? He stood up, looking around, his hand sliding over Jon’s wrist. Nobody was in here… wait… was that… he looked down and rapidly put two fingers over Jon’s wrist. Sure enough, though weak, there was a faint pulse.

…

The morgue worker was shocked to see Martin bursting out of the room, heading towards him with an unreadable expression on his face. “He’s… he’s not dead!” He hurried back with him into the morgue and saw that, while Jon did appear to be deceased, he had the faintest pulse. He immediately called for an ambulance.